He frowned and shook his head. “Fine, Liam.”
He rowed away, clean and effortless, leaving ripples in his wake. I stayed where I was, chest heaving, heart burning in ways I didn’t have words for.
Sophomore year had barely started. And the start of my season wasn’t one good stroke—it was losing an illegal race to Alex Harrington.
Chapter 2: Alex
I was in the shared dormitory bathroom on my floor—marble-looking tile, polished chrome fixtures, and wide mirrors framed in dark wood. I stepped into the shower stall, spun the knob, and the water poured out cold.
Without hesitation, I stepped in, hoping the shock would clear my head. The chill raced down my spine, my lungs heaved, and my body shook. It didn’t help. The only thing I could see was the look on Liam’s face after I beat him.
Exhausted. Embarrassed. Angry.
I hated it. I never wanted him to feel any of that.
I braced one hand on the wall, the other running through my wet hair as the water hit the back of my neck. My chest was still tight. It had been over a year since Brackett Lake—twelve months of pretending it meant nothing, that he meant nothing.
And then he showed up on the water this morning like the universe had been waiting to ambush me. Not only that—what we did could ruin our futures. We were both under a microscope, not just by our coaches, our teams, and my father, but nationalscouts. Off-book races weren’t tolerated. We were professionals, not children.
If anyone saw us…
I shut my eyes to wipe the thought from my mind.
Now I was seeing him. His dark curls pushed back with sweat, those green eyes locked on mine, his whole body coiled like he wanted to win or die trying. That rough, unpolished strength.
Heat rushed through me, mixing with the warming water.
God.
He looked incredible.
And the way he rowed. The power in his legs, the flex of muscle along his torso, the wild drive of every stroke. It shouldn’t have affected me the way it did. But all it did was take me straight back to that night—the night he grabbed my shirt and pulled me in, his breath against my mouth, then his lips against mine.
I hadn’t let myself remember that in months, but today I did, and it still turned me on.
My hand drifted down. I was already hard. A hot need boiling in me. It happened anytime I let myself think about him. I didn’t even have to picture him naked.
It was just... Liam.
His voice from that night, low against my ear. His lips. The heat of his skin. The way I couldn’t stop touching him. He was everything I wanted and would never be able to have. Not because he was my rival but because there was no way, in my family, that I could be out.
I’d be a stain on my father’s flawless life.
So instead of living my truth, I had this. I wrapped my fingers around myself and let out a breath.
I let my mind go as I began to stroke. Images flashed through my mind of our summer on the lake. Working together at the dock, hot and sweating. Liam wearing his white tee andred shorts that teased me every day. The night we swam and wrestled in the water.
The heat of his body when we first kissed.
I stroked harder, the water streaming down my back, steam filling the small room. I imagined being close to him, imagined the way he’d taste if I’d had the guts to keep going that night. My forehead pressed to the tile.
Fuck, I want him so bad.
“Liam...” It slipped out before I could stop it. The name echoed off the tiles.
Had anyone heard it?
My body tightened all at once, heat curling low and sharp. I bit back a moan but it still escaped, and then I was coming hard, pulse crashing through me as everything inside me shook.
